


Mother language

by MemeKon



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Culture, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Languages and Linguistics, Mother-Son Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-12
Updated: 2014-03-12
Packaged: 2018-01-15 12:12:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1304461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MemeKon/pseuds/MemeKon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Mamá," she encourages him, all smiles as she lets him wrap his hand around two of her fingers while they wait for the food to warm up. "Mamá."</p><p>"pbbbbbttt," Scott spits out, bubbly and happy, melting Melissa from the inside out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mother language

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote this for scottologist on tumblr, and they seemed to like it, so I decided to post it here.
> 
> (Just to be clear: I am latina, but I’m not chicana, so if this comes off as offensive in any way, please do tell me.  
> Also, there are translations at the bottom for anyone who needs them.)

"Mamá," she encourages him, all smiles as she lets him wrap his hand around two of her fingers while they wait for the food to warm up. "Mamá."

"pbbbbbttt," Scott spits out, bubbly and happy, melting Melissa from the inside out.

"Mi bebé hermoso," she whispers to him, and kisses the soft disheveled baby hairs on top of his head, where he smells like powder and sweetness and shampoo, "te amo tanto."

The microwave pings then, and she gets up to take the pureed apples out.

 

Rafael doesn’t like it when she speaks in Spanish around Scott, gets mad that he can’t understand what she’s telling him; their relationship is rocky enough as it is, and Melissa just— she doesn’t have the energy to fight about this too, even if it breaks her heart, and so she stops teaching him when he’s barely three.

Scott is more important, she tells herself, it’s much more important that he doesn’t grow up in a battlefield.

It doesn’t help much, it turns out, because Scott is eight and Rafael is sleeping in the guest room, and whenever their working schedules align and they share breathing space, there’s tension in the air and in their joints, in the bridges of their noses where there’s perpetual creases.

Scott can tell, such a perceptive, intuitive, feeling boy that he is, and it kills Melissa. Kills her that she can’t protect him from this. That this is the first of many things she won’t be able to shield him from.

It’s not a surprise when Rafael leaves. It’s been a long time coming, really; that doesn’t make it any less devastating, doesn’t stop Melissa from waiting until the morning to tell Scott, just so she doesn’t break in front of him.

Scott chokes on tears for hours in her arms, makes the questions kids often make in these situations, “was it my fault? Was it something I did?”

And Melissa aches, and she shushes him and kisses his nose, his cheeks, his forehead; brushes his soft brown hair behind his ear and says, “no, mi amor, no, this wasn’t your fault, no.”

Life goes on. At first slowly, painfully, like they are both maneuvering a vehicle with one less wheel; then a little easier, as the time flows, as days turn to weeks turn to months.

Scott meets this boy at his new school when he’s starting fourth grade, a SomethingSomething Stilinski.

The kid is… cute. Energetic. Wild.

He comes to their home on a playdate one day and makes Scott laugh so hard juice starts coming out of his nostrils.

After she makes sure that Scott’s fine, that he’s breathing right and his asthma hasn’t kicked in, he pats both kids on the back and goes to the kitchen and sheds a few tears.

It’s just… It’s nice to hear Scott laugh like that again, carefree and childish. It’s so, so nice.

"Los niños son resistentes, mija." Says her mother over the phone that night.

"Ya sé, mamá, pero igual me preocupo por él."

Her mom laughs, loud and full and Melissa can feel her chest full of nostalgia.

"Ay, Melita, eso es lo que hacen las madres."

 

Scott starts getting in trouble then, nothing too serious, nothing that makes her seriously worried, just,

"Kid things." Says the woman sitting next to her on the Principal’s office, a bright smile on her pale and mole covered face. "Come on, they are just kids, they are bound to be curious. They didn’t actually go that far? They didn’t leave the museum, at least. And they didn’t break anything!"

Melissa tries to disguise a smile behind her hand, pretends to cough, because this woman is certainly Stiles’ mom, fitting the kid to a tee, all mischief and twinkling eyes.

The principal frowns at her, severity written all over her face.

"This won’t happen again," the woman says. States.

Stiles’ mother nods, solemnly. Looks at Melissa with her earnest big, deep brown eyes and Melissa nods along with her. “I promise it won’t.”

It doesn’t.

Stiles and Scott find other ways to get into different and more creative trouble.

Melissa’s never felt so close to having an ulcer (not even on her first month working as a nurse)… and yet she’s happier than she’s been in quite some time.

 

"Mom," starts Scott one day when he’s almost ten, eyes big and serious as he sits on her bed while she prepares her work clothes, "I want to talk to mi abuelita."

"Okay, honey. We’ll call her tonight," she answers, distracted.

"No," Scott insists, and then repeats, with intent,"I want to talk to mi abuelita.”

Melissa frowns and looks at him, not really getting where he’s going.

"I want to talk to her on my own," he clarifies then, sounding incredibly determined yet gentle.

(Melissa’s mom doesn’t speak much English, barely enough to exchange a few words now and then with Scott; generally she’s the one that acts as a translator/intermediary between them. She knows Scott’s picked some things from his grandma and that she’s picked things for him, but she’s still there to smooth things along.

At first she’d thought that her mom would resent her for choosing to… to not teach Scott to embrace his roots enough, maybe; for choosing to let Rafael influence her decision in regards to something so important as their heritage, their culture.

Her mother hadn’t, though. She’d been soft and understanding, had told her she was proud of her, of prioritizing her grandchild.

"Eres una madraza, Melita, mi amor. Estoy orgullosa de ti.")

Melissa stops what she’s doing and looks at Scott, not certain how she should react or where this is coming from.

"Okay," she says anyway, after clearing her throat, rubbing her hands against her pants and sitting next to him. "we can definitely do that."

Scott leans on her, and she hugs him with one arm, hand firm on his shoulder. She kisses the top of his head, tender.

It sounds and feels a lot like they’re closing a chapter then, and starting an entirely new one.

(“Te quiero tantísimo, abuelita. Quiero verte pronto.” Is the first thing Scott says to his grandma once he’s more or less fluent, beaming and proud and beautiful.

Melissa maybe tears up a bit as she ruffles her kid’s hair, but everything’s alright.)

**Author's Note:**

> Translations:  
> "Mom."  
> "My beautiful baby."  
> "I love you so much."  
> "Kids are resilient, mija."  
> "I know, mom, but I still worry about him."  
> "Oh, Melita, that’s just what moms do."  
> "You’re a great mother, Melita, my love. I’m proud of you."  
> "I love you so much, grandma. I wanna see you soon."
> 
> [Come hang out with me on Tumblr!](http://memekon.tumblr.com)


End file.
